by E. K. Blair
“You need to do what’s best for your family.”
His words are salt and the thought of this being our last time to talk upsets me even more.
I now know these tears belong to Alec.
“Who are you talking to?”
I jump off the couch the moment I hear his voice, and I disconnect the call. I must’ve been so wrapped up in my head that I didn’t hear Landon walking through the front door.
“Who were you talking to?” he repeats, and my first instinct is to lie, to tell him anything but the truth.
He would only catch me though. All he would have to do is look at my phone and see the same number he called the other night. So with my heart in my throat, I give up the fight and confess the truth.
“Him.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been begging me to come home, telling me you want me, and you’re still fucking talking to him?” His voice is pure gravel as he shouts at me. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
He takes a step toward me, fists clenched. “I came here so we could talk. It’s what you’ve been pleading for.”
I shake my head slowly—defeated, and take a seat on the couch as I cry.
“What are you doing to us?” he says on a fractured voice.
I want to tell him something to soothe him, but it would be a lie, so I take a hard swallow and open my heart to him, giving him the ugly truth.
“I don’t know if there is an us.”
When I say the words, I see a shift in his eyes as worry coats them.
I lower my head because I can’t bear to see him like this, but I go on, saying, “I was in shock when you first left, but I’ve been thinking about us, and now I’m not sure what I want.”
“You want out?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that I don’t feel like I’m done talking with Alec. And when you leave, I’m going to call him back.”
With apprehension, I open my eyes and look up to my husband as tears fall from his face. It could be the realization that he no longer holds the power of the future of our marriage, but my husband is not a man who cries—ever, and to know it’s by my hand that he’s cracking is the worst feeling ever.
“What did I do? Tell me what I can do,” he pleads.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t want to lose my family,” he says, a sudden one-eighty shift, and I can tell he’s feeling the same out-of-control panic I did when he left me.
“I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
“Who is this guy? What is it he’s giving you that I don’t? You met him on that fetish site, right? So what is it? What fetishes is he into that you want a part of?”
“It’s not his fetishes,” I tell him as he stares down at me in utter helplessness. “He’s just . . . I don’t know . . . just completely different than who we are.”
“And what? You no longer like who we are?”
“We’ve grown apart, Landon.”
“Says who?”
I shrug my shoulders and drop my head again. When his next words come, they slay me entirely.
“Fine. If this is what you need, I’ll give it to you. You can call him, meet him, fuck him, just promise me, for God’s sake, come back to me when you’re done.” His voice cracks, exposing the wretched agony from his soul, and I cradle my head in my hands and sob.
I cry so loud that I don’t even hear the door close when he leaves.
What have I done to this man?
I pick up the phone just like I said I would, and make my call.
“Is everything okay?”
“I can’t do this,” I wail. “I can’t do this to my husband.”
“You need to think about you, Victoria. What is it that you want?”
“You should hate me. You shouldn’t take my calls. I lied to you. I lied to my husband. I’m a horrible person.”
“I’m mad at you for lying to me, but I don’t hate you, and I don’t want to stop talking to you.”
“I’m a piece of shit, just admit it,” I tell him through my tears because I’m not strong enough to walk away.
I can’t fool him though, and he calls me on my game. “This isn’t going to work on me. If you want me to be the one to end this, I won’t. I know what you’re doing, and I won’t do it.”
“Why?”
“You know why. It’s the reason why you can’t stay away from me.”
The fact that he’s now chasing me makes this all the harder to do, but I can’t continue to hurt my husband. He doesn’t deserve any of this.
“Tell me goodbye.”
“No,” he states adamantly.
“I owe it to my husband to try to work this out, but I don’t know if this is fixable.”
“If not, you have my number.”
I take in a deep breath, right my back, and wipe the tears from my cheeks, but my voice breaks anyway when I say, “Goodbye, Alec,” and then hang up.
“If you ever want your soul to dance in the clouds, you will at some point have to juggle lightning and taste the thunder.”
~ Christopher Poindexter
They say time heals all wounds.
Don’t believe them.
It’s been three months since my world fell apart. Three months since I broke my husband. Three months since I forever changed my marriage.
Landon tells me that we can never be what we once were because he no longer has the blind trust he once had in me.
It took him four weeks to come back home after he found out about Alec. I should’ve been ecstatic about having Landon back, but I wasn’t. Maybe I was scared of how we would get along under the same roof. Or maybe I got used to being alone, got used to the idea of being free, got used to the idea that perhaps there could be something better for me out there.
When I was alone, it’s was amazing how much thinking I did.
I thought about Landon.
I thought about me.
I thought about why I did what I did.
I thought Did I get married too young? Did I cheat myself out of losing control and going wild when I was in college? Did I make a mistake by following the timetable of what society makes us believe is appropriate: college, marriage, kids?
I thought until I drove myself crazy with confusion. And when that happened, I thought about Alec.
I still think about him.
Time hasn’t weakened my memory of him.
The therapist Landon and I have been seeing since he came home told me it would take time to get over the loss of Alec. He told Landon that, as unfair as it seems, he would need to extend me patience to mourn the loss of Alec. I felt guilty to expect Landon to offer me that. I’m the bad guy. I don’t deserve my husband’s patience, but he’s given it to me anyway. And our therapist was right—even though I only knew Alec for a week, I did mourn the loss of him.
I’m still mourning.
I still want to call him.
I think about it constantly.
Every time Landon and I fight, which is pretty often these days, my first thought is to run to Alec. It’s not that I fell for him—I know I didn’t. I’m smart enough to see now that what I fell for was the fantasy of him. I used him to bring that fantasy to life because for some reason I was desperate for it. I needed it. Needed the excitement, the allure, the temptation. With Alec, I felt alive, so I used him to sustain the euphoria.
Once during a private session, my therapist told me Alec was able to release endorphins into my bloodstream. The more we discussed it, the more I agreed. Every time I talked to Alec, I would get a drug-like rush—a high. I was instantly addicted to the feeling, which explains my constant craving. All it would take was a simple text from him, and I’d light up with excitement. But the craving is still there, something I refuse to mention to my therapist because I don’t want to create any more friction in my marriage, so I hide it.
We go to therapy every
week.
I sit there.
I listen.
I say all the right things, most of them lies.
And then I get in my car and daydream about Alec.
I’m starting to think the therapy is why I can’t eradicate him from my head. Alec won’t die because of all the endless talking about what I did with him and exploring all the whys.
But it isn’t just the talking, it’s the complete loss of trust. Landon is constantly suspicious of who I’m talking to, who I’m texting, where I’m going when I get into my car, and what I’m doing all day while he’s at work. He’s now linked all our phones and computers to the same account so he can monitor my calls, texts, and even my location through a GPS app he’s installed on his phone. He can pinpoint my location and track my every move through my cell—and he does.
I’m a prisoner in my own world.
I know I deserve it, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t. I hate it. It makes me want to run away even more. Makes me crave freedom over and above what I used to.
If there were ever issues in our marriage before, they couldn’t come close to how many we have now. And the lack of trust has driven the biggest wedge of all between us.
This is another reason why I lie in therapy. I need the trust back, all the while knowing I’m the last person Landon should trust. But I want his trust to do untrustworthy things.
I miss my drug.
I miss my high.
I miss Alec.
I’m constantly wondering where it would’ve gone if Landon had never found out. It’s like watching the most incredible movie ever, and right before I hit the peak of the plot, the electricity goes out and never comes back on. And there I am, left on this high I can’t find my way down from, forever wondering what happens next. So I create my own version of the story. I keep it alive in my head, unable to let it go because it’s constantly tormenting me. It’s a story left unfinished. That’s what Alec is to me.
I know I’m a horrible person. Every day I can feel myself growing more and more selfish. But every day, I can also feel myself growing more and more resentful of Landon. And again, I’m completely aware that this is all my fault. I created this world I now inhabit. A world of lies and mistrust.
I hate it.
I hate living this way.
“I hate this part of your job,” Landon says from the bed as he watches me pack. “And the fact that you’re going alone—”
“What am I supposed to do? Brooke is in her first trimester and has been extremely sick. There’s no way she can make this trip.”
“I know, but it doesn’t help with my anxiety.”
Because of my betrayal, Landon is in a constant state of worry, fearing his world could come crashing down again at any moment. I do what I can to assure him while I silence the devil inside me that’s eager to come out and play. Landon has so many restless nights, so much stress, so much uncertainty.
“It’s a quick trip. In on Friday, out on Sunday,” I tell him before walking into the closet to pick out some shoes.
“Are there going to be male models at this signing?”
I walk back to my suitcase, which is sitting on the bed next to him. “Yes.”
He huffs in frustration, leaning back against the headboard.
“Landon, try to use this as an opportunity to build some trust in me.”
“I’m trying to do what Dr. Lapinski told me to do. I’m trying to give you my trust, but it’s not easy.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I love you,” I assure him, and at least that’s the truth. No matter what we are going through, I do still love my husband. I then try to lighten the mood and tease, “Plus, those twenty-something-year-old models can get any hottie of their choosing, so why would they choose a middle-aged housewife with stretch marks?”
“That’s your defense?”
I shrug my shoulders playfully.
“I just heard Brooke gossiping to you the other day about some author having sex with her cover model and leaving her husband and kids, so don’t pretend that it’s so far out of the realm of possibilities.”
He’s right. This job of mine, this author world, it’s filled with so much scandal. So many women losing themselves to the same thing that caused me to slip—fantasy.
I take a seat next to him and run my hand along his jawline, attempting to soothe him. “I made a mistake that I won’t ever make again. And I am so sorry. But I love you, and I know you won’t believe me when I say it, but I’m going to say it anyway: you can trust me.”
More lies.
He cups my face in his hands, his eyes full of unease. “Just come home as fast as you can.”
I press my lips to his and wish for all this to disappear, but I can’t go back. I can’t change what I did. So I temper my guilty heart by having sex with him. It’s a lame attempt at normalcy in a marriage that’s anything but.
I arrive in Austin, and it’s nice to see my friends that I haven’t seen in a while. After everything that happened, Landon had me cancel several of my signings, but this Austin signing is such a huge event that I couldn’t miss it. Plus, after three months, it’s time to get back to my schedule and not back out of any more events.
When we pull up to the hotel and unload our luggage, we head inside to check in. Even though Brooke couldn’t come with me, she didn’t fail to make sure she took care of everything. She booked the hotel, did my preorders, shipped everything I could possibly need to the hotel, and even found me a replacement assistant for the event.
“You’re all set,” the clerk from the reservation counter says as she hands me my room key. “I’ll have the bellhop deliver your boxes to your room shortly.”
“Thank you. Could you also have him deliver this suitcase? I’d like to grab a drink at the bar before heading up to my room.”
“Of course.”
As soon as I walk over to the expansive lounge area, I spot Erin and her cover model, Gabe, sitting at the bar. Gabe is one of the very few models who will be attending this event, which is on the classier side of book signings. No shirts will be removed or anything of that nature, unlike the Vegas event I last saw Gabe at, which is known for its wild antics. The host for Vegas is the polar opposite of the host for Austin—both insanely sweet in their own right.
“Erin,” I say excitedly when I approach, and she leaps off her barstool to give me a hug.
“I didn’t expect to see you here after you cancelled your last signing.”
“I’m here. Life has just been crazy and the winter has been brutal on my girls. They got sick and my husband couldn’t take off work.” I tell her the same lie Brooke told the last event host I had to cancel on. I then turn to Gabe. “How have you been?”
“Good,” he says before giving me a hug as well.
I look around, and then ask the dreaded question, “Is Jen here?”
“She’s up in the room taking a nap,” Erin tells me, and when I look over to Gabe, I ask, “I take it you worked everything out?”
He sits back down, and I join them.
“I took your advice and gave her time to come around.”
“And?”
“I was just honest. Told her how I felt about her, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”
“Are you serious? That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you,” I exclaim. “How is that working out with the two of you living in different states?”
“It’s not ideal, but we’re making it work. I actually flew her to L.A. after Christmas.”
“That sounds kind of serious.”
“He’s so smitten with her,” Erin teases, embarrassing Gabe.
“Well, I think it’s sweet,” I tell him. “I’m glad it’s working out for you.”
“Thanks, Madilyn.”
“Wait,” Erin blurts. “Where’s Brooke?”
“At home, barfing her insides out.” I laugh when her face contorts in disgust. “She’s pregnant.”
“I guess I’ve l
ost my party buddy, but good for her.”
“Oh, she’ll be back to her old self after the baby is born. You haven’t lost her for good.”
We continue to catch up, and when I finish my drink, I head to my hotel room. A stack of boxes is waiting for me to organize, but after the long flight, I’m drained. I toss my purse onto the bed and flop down next to it. I’m not used to coming to signings alone and wish Brooke were here. But even with her gone, I’m still happy to be away from all the stress and tension back home.
I startle when the hotel phone rings loudly.
“Hello?”
“This is the front desk calling to confirm your luggage has been delivered to your room.”
“Yes, it has. Thank you.”
I hang up the phone and look for a way to turn down the obnoxiously loud ringer. That’s when treachery creeps in.
I know I shouldn’t be having the thoughts I’m having, but I am, and before I know it, they’re racing out of control as my body begins to react in excitement.
This phone is untraceable.
I reach for my cell, pop off the case, and pull out the small folded piece of paper I hid in there that has Alec’s phone number. I was afraid I’d forget it, so I’ve always kept it like a druggie’s secret stash they smuggle into rehab.
I’m already hitting my high and I haven’t even called him, but knowing I can is enough to spark the live wire inside me.
Just one call, Tori. Landon will never know.
I pick up the receiver, fingers shaking, and with each number I dial I know I should hang up, burn his number, and get the fuck out of this room. But I don’t, because I know how good this call is going to feel.
The moment I hear his unmistakable voice, it all comes rushing back. Every vein weaving under my flesh tingles.
“It’s me,” I murmur when he answers, and I swear my heart is about to break one of my ribs, it’s pounding so hard.
“Victoria?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”
And suddenly, all the turmoil of these past few months rolls in like a tidal wave, crashing down upon the relief of finally being able to have a shred of freedom. Emotions slip out and fall down my face. I’m at a loss for words as I try not to completely lose it. But the moment I sniff, he catches it.
